


At Your Doorstep

by girlpornparadise



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Sexy Times, Showers, Smut, angel - Freeform, soft smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpornparadise/pseuds/girlpornparadise
Summary: This was not what you were expecting. But he needs you.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	1. At Your Doorstep

It's late when you hear the rap on your door. You're tired and a visitor is not welcome at this hour, but you pad to the entrance all the same. The knock didn't have the insistence of an emergency, but rather a hesitation to it, as if maybe they realized it was late and didn't want to disturb you after all.

When you look through the peephole there's a figure standing there clad in green, looking down and to the left. It's the same man who occupied your evening yesterday.

***

"Just one drink, I promise." That was always his promise, and it was a promise he never kept.

"Not tonight Javi, I'm too tired." You knew he wouldn't be deterred so easily.

"Please, I need your help." Intrigue. This was a new tactic. 

"What could you possibly need my help with outside of work?" You asked with a tinge of exasperation.

Javier Pena was a sweet talker. You knew it as well as everyone else at the embassy. Most of all he knew it, and he was quick to leverage his charm to get what he wanted. A peek at a file, a scrap of information, a favour under the table. And occasionally a date when he was bored with the locals he cavorted with. 

"I need backup." He stated flatly.

"Don't you have a partner for that?" You asked, wondering what game he was playing at.

"Not that kind of backup. The social kind. The kind only a beautiful and charming woman such as yourself could provide." He smiled as he leaned over your desk.

Appealing to your sense of vanity AND intrigue. Smart. 

"So who's the mark this time?" You asked tentatively. You'd played this game before. It was usually a low level diplomat or a friend of a friend from stateside. Never anyone dangerous or unseemly. He knew better than to involve the embassy in those kinds of dealings. You agreed to these dinners or drinks because you knew you'd end up somewhere nicer than you could afford on your salary and he'd pick up the tab. 

"You'll like him. I promise." 

"That's what you said last time and he was a walking sedative. In fact, I don't know why I ever say yes, I never like them that much." You said shaking your head.

"You can't expect them to live up to the bar I've set." He said with a wink.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been new to Colombia. Before you knew better. Javi had hounded you then, much the same way, but after a handful of unsuccessful dates you had landed somewhere between colleagues and friends.

You considered your options. There were cold leftovers waiting for you in your fridge. 

"Ok." You acquiesced, making a bigger show of it than you actually felt. 

"Great, I'll come grab you at 5. I promise, he's a good one."

"You always say that." You called after him as he strode out of the office.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you transcribed notes and prepared reports. It was a busy time with the hunt for Escobar escalating and the recent formation of the Search Bloc. There was so much information to process that most days ended with a long shower and a dumb tv show to reset your overworked mind.

At the agreed upon time Javi came by your desk to gather you. You had put the finishing touches on today's file and snuck off to the washroom to brush your hair and touch up your makeup. There was no time to go home, so you took off your jacket, unbuttoned the top button of your blouse and tried your best to flatten your skirt with your hands. It would have to do.

When you got to the bar you sat down at the booth and Javi slid in next to you. It was nicer than your usual haunts, but not the top tier you'd hoped for.

The waitress brought you some water and you drank it as something to do. You were running out of small talk with Javi when the mystery guest arrived.

You saw his figure before you could place it. A grey polo shirt and khakis were approaching, carried by a strong and commanding gait. You followed the dark hair down to a serious expression. You gulped. It was him.

"Over here." Javi said, catching his attention. You sank down in your chair slightly, intent on disappearing.

"Colonel" you managed to choke out after a moment, unable to conceal the surprise in your tone.

He smiled politely and sat down. You regarded him in a daze as he and Javi exchanged pleasantries, or what passed as such between two men whose work was so difficult.

As your panic subsided and your focus returned, you heard Javi making his excuses about having a date and leaving the table. Your heart sank into your stomach. As you watched him leave, still in disbelief he mouthed the words "You're welcome." Before disappearing from view.

Your crush on Colonel Corrillo was the worst kept secret in the office. The handful of times he had come into the embassy you couldn't help but take him in with a sense of awe. Though the reports were largely dry and factual, they painted the portrait of a hero to you. A strong, steadfast, no nonsense leader who got results. A man morally uncompromising and determined in his mission. You thought meeting him would burst that bubble, but it had only added a handsome, rugged, sculpted visage to match the myth you had built in your mind.

After your first encounter, you found yourself tapping your pencil against your lip when you came across his name in a report. It was always accompanied by a smile to yourself and an ache in your chest. You'd hope to hear his commanding footsteps come up behind you so you could steal a peak at his arms straining on his uniform before he disappeared into one office or another.

Each time he passed your desk you smiled a little too widely and blushed a little too brightly at him. Though his demeanor was always serious, he smiled back, and you melted a little in your seat.

Now here he was, sitting across from you, you thought to yourself.

"What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Depends, is Javi footing the bill?" A bit of mischief played at your lips.

He smiled and ordered a couple of drinks from a higher shelf than you're used to, mercifully saving you from making a decision for yourself.

You babbled a bit awkwardly at the start until the alcohol hit you and you started to find your groove.

The small talk revolved mostly around work, as it seemed his life generally did. He was polite, but distracted the entire evening and you couldn't help but feel disappointed that you couldn't hold his attention. You felt like this was a mistake. Maybe he just owed Javi a favour. Maybe you were as boring as you feared. 

At the end of the night he offered to walk you home, more out of concern for your safety than any desire to be invited in for a drink you surmised. He smiled politely and excused himself at your doorstep and you went to bed feeling a bit disillusioned and empty.

***

But here he is, standing at your door again one day later. 

You grip the silk robe you're wearing tightly to your chest and unlock the deadbolt and open the door. He looks up with a hesitation on his face. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

He smiles a half hearted smile and looks at you, considering. Somehow he seems smaller and less intimidating than yesterday. Maybe because this was your home and you had the advantage of the familiar.

The confident man who strides through your office, commanding a room by his mere presence is not the man standing before you. For the first time ever he looks unsure of himself. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He says apologetically. 

He turns to leave but you reach out and touch his arm. He hesitates. 

"It's late and I didn't mean to disturb you." 

"It's fine." You say, concern filling your expression. "Please, come in."

He crosses your threshold and for a moment, neither of you are sure what to say. You look into his eyes, searching for his reason, trying to decipher his intentions.

His expression has its normal hardness to it, but behind his gaze is something unsure. Wavering. He wants to tell you why he's there. He wants to find the words, but they don't come. 

He sighs.

You see a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he's on the verge of collapse. It's coming up on midnight and he's obviously come straight from work. The lines on his face spell out an impossibility long day.

The tension rising across the country is palpable and here stands a man at the center of the storm. You can't imagine the sense of responsibility he must feel and as your heart reaches out to him, so does your hand. An instinct takes over you and you grasp his palm in yours.

"I'm sorry" he starts "I...", but you place your other hand over his, sandwiching his strong calloused hand between your delicate fingers. It silences him and steadies you both.

Staring into his eyes you see a man who has run out. He has run out of energy. He has run out of cigarettes and drink. He has run out of the mental fortitude to spend endless hours listening to tapes of his nemesis, distilling scraps of information into hard won knowledge. But most of all he has run out of the willingness to bury his men.

You know the burden of an exhausted mind and are flooded with empathy. In your heart you feel what he has come here for, even if he can't articulate it. 

Still gently holding his hand in yours you squeeze it ever so slightly to bring his attention to the present moment.

"I was just about to take a shower. Join me." You say it softly. It wasn't a suggestion so much as a statement of things to come.

You notice his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, but you maintain eye contact. He nods almost imperceptibly. As you look away to lead him down the hall, his gaze follows you, entranced.

You lead him to your bathroom. He doesn't protest, but follows obediently. You put down the toilet seat and sit him down. You kneel to look him in the eye, making sure he's comfortable and proceed to unlace his boots. You slip them off, followed by his socks and place them carefully to the side. He watches you silently but intently. 

You turn to the tub and fiddle with the knobs until they reach the spots where the desired temperature should flow from. The sound of the running water visibly soothes him, and you rest your hand on his knee to ground yourself to him.

When you're satisfied with the flowing water, you take his hands delicately and stand him up. His stance still has a military air about it, but he has begun to relax in your presence. You place your hands on his broad chest and look into his eyes. There's a trusting innocence there that he normally keeps locked away. As he takes in your features you glide your hands up to his collar. You carefully unbutton his uniform, breathing steadily as you untuck his shirt and undo the last button. You slide it off of his firm shoulders and hang it on the hook behind the door. You touch his arms and he raises them over his head so you can remove the green undershirt that clings to his torso. You do so carefully, as if tending to a wounded man. You are in a way doing just that.

His belt takes a little more effort and he helps you remove it from his waist. After tossing it aside, you unzip his pants and kneeling again, pull them down. You reach up and hook your hands in the waistband of his boxers and gently tug them to the floor. He steps out of the pile at his feet.

When you stand up again you can hear his breathing and see his chest rise and fall. He's not quite panting, but his mouth is slightly agape and as you step towards him you feel his hot breath against your skin. 

You cup his jaw in your hands and he puts his hands on your waist. You moisten your lips and plant a soft kiss on his mouth. He relaxes into your kiss and pulls you in tighter to deepen it, but you don't give into his wanting.

When you pull back, he releases your waist and you untie your silk robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing your naked form. He draws his breath inward sharply as his eyes feast upon you and you smile softly as he admires you. He licks his lips hungrily, a man starving for your touch.

As you cup his face again and pull his mouth to yours, your hands push their way back into his hair. You feel the day's work in it, sweat and dirt from the physicality of his job. His rough hands on your back pull you closer in return, pressing your naked breasts against his body. He savours your warmth and you tingle as his growing erection grazes your stomach.

His tongue circles yours, slowly and purposefully and with your eyes shut, you breathe him in. His scent is musky and grounded, born from the earth and the streets he had been running today. You knew from the report that had crossed your desk before you had left work that it had been a hard one with heavy casualties. When you pull back and look into the deep pools of his eyes, you can see the toll it has taken on him. The pain he has come here to forget.

You continue to be gentle with this solid block of granite before you. You know he could easily throw you down and take you if he'd wanted, but he needs something softer, more nurturing in this time and place.

When you break your kiss he searches your eyes once more, craving the contact you now deny him. You take him by the hand, gently guiding him once again, into the shower. 

As the warm water hits him, he is rejuvenated and his lust finds life. You kiss him again and taste the salt running off of his body as your hands wrap around to his back. His hands seek you as well, finding the small of your back, and trailing down to your cheeks, which he palms and grasps tightly, thrusting your hips into his fully erect cock. 

He has found his desire and it won't be easily quelled. You're crushed against him as his skin seeks as much contact with yours as possible. He is trying to consume you now with his hungry mouth, press your flesh to his until you become one. There's a desperate need to have you rising within him, and he expresses it by pulling you into him even tighter.

The pressure his muscular body exerts on you becomes too much and you push him back to break away. The force with which you do it concerns him, and he looks to you for reassurance that he hasn't hurt you. You give it gladly with your gentle smile and his desperation ebbs momentarily.

Instead of returning to his fever pitch, you take control of the tempo by grabbing a washcloth in your right hand. You pour a small amount of liquid soap on it, and wring it into a lather. You press it gently to his shoulder and as you massage the knotted muscle straining beneath it he relaxes into your touch. His breathing slows.

As you massage his aching muscles with one hand you run your other thumb along his jawline, feeling his days worth of stubble. He leans into the touch and as your thumb reaches his bottom lip, he kisses it gently.

Moving the same hand down to touch his arm, you indicate that he should turn around and he obliges. He gratefully lets you scrub his back and you work your way across the broad canvass with care and patience. As you remove the sweat and dirt from his tense but exhausted body, his knotted muscles relax under your touch. He sighs and it sounds like he's releasing his thoughts and pain with the air in his lungs. He flexes and relaxes as you erase the day from his skin and sinew. You watch the water run off of his beautiful topography and hope it washes away any doubts he had about coming here this night.

When you finish he turns to face you again and his expression has softened. As your hands reach out to guide him once more, so does your heart, and you are filled with a deep need to protect the peaceful bubble you have ensconced the both of you in.

As you both step out of the tub and you turn off the water his hands rest on your hips. He doesn't want to let you go for fear that this is some dream his stress addled brain has conjured. You turn and rub his bicep reassuringly and then stroke the back of his neck, just at the hairline. 

You grab a towel off the hook and dry off his torso carefully. He watches your small hands work their way across his body with care. He takes the towel from you to dry his legs and you grab a second towel to dry yourself. You again work slowly, so as not to upset the calming rhythm you've established. He stands once again mesmerized by your hands and when he finishes drying himself takes your hands in his. He regards them as sacred instruments, capable of healing his cracks and breaks.

As you gently drop his hands from yours you float to the exit. You go to leave the room but turn around in the doorway.

"Come to bed." You beckon.

He follows you as he has done all night and you sit him down on the edge of the bed. Standing above him, you run a hand through the waves of his short damp hair. 

"Let me take care of you, Colonel." You say, kneeling between his legs.

He takes your hands in his once more and looks into your eyes with a softness you had spent the night earning.

"Horacio" he says.

"Horacio" you whisper back. 

You let the intimacy of the moment wash over you.

You stroke his thighs slowly and he throws his head back and closes his eyes with a gasp. Bending forward you take his length into your mouth and gently suck. He murmurs as he hardens in your mouth.

You twirl your tongue around his tip, and he sucks in air with a sharp gasp. You grasp his length with your hand and continue to tease his shaft with slow, languid strokes while the warm moisture and hot breath in your mouth massage his throbbing head.

As you feel his legs tense you look up at him, mouth still firmly wrapped around his hungry cock. He looks down at you with awe. A man so unused to relinquishing control, completely at your mercy. His trust settles deep within your chest and you feel powerful, but benevolent.

His breathing quickens and the throbbing between your own legs feels more urgent as well. You rise from between his legs and straddle him. He looks up into your eyes with a desperate need, a craving of intimacy you can't deny him.

He grabs his shaft and guides it into your center as you lower yourself onto him. You both let out strained cries as you feel your bodies intertwine. He pulls you close to him, his hands on your shoulder blades and his elbows resting in the small of your back. In return you pull his head into your chest, gripping his hair.

You rise and fall with his slow, rhythmic thrusts. He takes his time, savouring the tight pull of your walls around him. You pull back his hair to tilt his head up to you and plant your parted lips on his open mouth. 

As you feel the heat swell at your core, he slows and cruelly pulls away from you. You whimper at his loss. But his strong hands guide you downwards, and he lays you on the bed. He slides himself into you once more and it makes you feel complete.

You stare into his eyes and he stares back, you've both lost yourselves in each other. You feel his weight on top of you, the heat radiating off of him, and he kisses you again. This time it's soft and caring. He studies you trying to find your pleasure.

He wants to please you, needs to please you. Needs to repay all of the kindness and solice you brought into his life tonight. He thrusts his hips slowly, incrementally increasing the pressure, trying to find your release. As he feels your chest heave harder and your body begin to tremble beneath him, he quickens his pace.

He draws the orgasm from your core and you squirm and twitch beneath his mass. You cry out his name as you reach your peak. To him it is a prayer, something sacred that he feels deeply and it brings him to his end.

He crashes into you and as he cries out he releases himself. Releases his pain, his anguish, his responsibilities and cares. As he spills into you, he lets go of the months of pressure that had threatened to break him, and is met with the sense of peace he so greatly desired.

As his spent body finds its place next to yours you smile and study his face. His shield of indifference has been lowered. He looks back at you with reverence, you are someone to be worshipped. To him you are the angel of mercy who welcomed him into her home, and welcomed him into herself.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heartbeat slows and steadies, not in the forced way like when his training takes over him, but in an organic way that he so seldom feels.

He shifts to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you tight to him. This man who washed up on the shores of your body, seeking refuge in your curves and coves, now nestled against your chest. 

He mumbles something in Spanish and though you can't make it out, it feels tinged with gratitude. He holds you tightly and you run your hand across his wet hair, and cradle him to you. He drifts off in the safety of your home, your bed, your body. As the world rages outside around you, you have both found peace in each other.


	2. Atop the Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it a one night stand? Or could it be more

You awaken later than intended to find yourself alone. You reach across the bed, but there's no warm body to touch or even residual warmth to feel. He's long gone.

You look around the room and there's no trace that he'd been there. Maybe it was just a dream. 

You look at the clock and realize you're running late for work, and in a panic start to get ready.

When you go to brush your teeth, you see the 2 towels strewn across the floor. You pick them up and they're both still damp. It reminds you it had been real, which somehow feels worse. You had opened yourself to him, wide and raw and vulnerable and he had abandoned you without a second thought.

You rush through your morning routine and leave for work.

You arrive a little late, but no one seems to notice. You decide you'll stay a bit late to make up the work. You find the notes from yesterday and begin to compile your report.

Halfway down the page you find it and it hits you like a bus. "Colonel Carrillo…" His name doesn't elicit the usual reaction of lip tapping smiles. This time it cuts like a knife. What felt like your deepest, most intimate encounter was merely a one night stand.

After you devour lunch, having skipped breakfast entirely, you return to your desk. The deflation you felt has made you exhausted, but the report can't wait. You write accurately and factually, but your hero feels like a villain to you now, and it takes the 3 dimensionality out of the work.

While you're typing away, you hear them coming. The commanding footsteps. You know the sound of those boots. Involuntarily your fingers feel the memory of unlacing them the night before. Your mind flashes to those soft eyes watching you do it and you feel sick.

Instead of your usual beaming, you are flushing with embarrassment. You're humiliated and you duck your head down pretending to concentrate on your work. Out of the corner of your eye, the green uniform passes and you picture it on your floor. No. You push away the memory with force. 

After half an hour of sighing into your papers and choking down the lump in your throat that precedes tears, you hear the footsteps again. They are approaching from the direction you are facing this time and you duck your head again, unable to face him. 

The footsteps pause at your desk and you feel him hovering over you. You try to steel yourself before looking up, but you can't conceal the pain and anger in your expression.

He stands tall and stone-faced, but something flickers in his eyes as he registers your expression.

He leans down slightly and drops a manilla folder in front of you. 

"Your boss wants this dealt with asap." He states and walks away.

You're confused. Why on earth would he be delivering a report to your desk. He doesn't even work here.

Looking around to see if anyone noticed this anomaly, you open the folder carefully, like it contains something confidential, suspecting it's for your eyes only.

In it you don't find a report, but instead there's a single piece of paper with neat handwriting in black ink.

"I'm sorry." Your heart sinks. You knew he thought you were a mistake. That this perfect man used you and regrets it. But you push on.

"I couldn't bring myself to wake a sleeping ángel." You gasp slightly and your heart jumps into your throat. 

"Let me make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow. Meet me at the same restaurant at 7pm.

Horacio" 

You silently whisper his name to yourself and the deep seeded intimacy of speaking it the night before floods you with longing.

You look behind you, but he once again is long gone.

You fold the paper and put it in your purse to protect it from prying eyes. But you also know you're saving it for later, so you can run your eyes over the words and linger on the word "ángel" like an enamoured school girl who had been passed a note in study hall.

***

The next day arrives and you show up to work glowing. You can't sit still all day and by the time the clock strikes 5 you're practically vibrating with anticipation.

You go home and change this time into a sundress that flatters your figure without giving too much away.

You make your way to the restaurant a bit earlier than you normally would. This man works on military time, you remind yourself, and punctuality isn't your strong suit.

You sit down and shortly after order yourself a drink. You should treat yourself. Feeling special will give you confidence, and after your first lukewarm date, you feel like you'll need it.

The drink disappears and the bowl of peanuts slowly empties.

8 o'clock rolls around and you realize you've been stood up. As you reach into your purse to get your wallet, your hand brushes by the folded paper with his name neatly scrawled across the bottom.

No.

No, you were not going to accept this. 

You go to the counter and order 2 meals and have them packed up to go.

You hail a cab. "Carlos Holguin School." The driver considers it an odd request at this hour, but takes you there all the same.

It's quiet as you walk to the gate. You pull out your embassy badge and flash it at the surprised guard. He notices you are carrying a large brown paper bag, but your tone is sharp when you tell him the files you're delivering are urgent. Unable to find a reason to deny someone so harmless looking entry, he lets you pass.

You approach the office and take a deep breath before you enter, unsure of what's on the other side. Unsure if your intrusion will be welcome.

You enter the dimly lit room to see Colonel Carrillo leaning over his desk, leaning on his elbow with his forehead pressing on his hand.

He stands abruptly, startled by your presence.

The office is otherwise empty and all of a sudden you feel very aware of how inappropriate it was for you to come here at this hour, or at all really.

"How did you get in here?" He asks with a tone you assume he uses for interrogation.

"The, uh, guard let me in." You stammer. "I told him I was delivering files from the embassy." 

You've misread the situation. This was a mistake.

He sighs. His posture and expression soften simultaneously as he realizes he put you on the spot.

"I'll have to have a talk with him." He says exasperated and a bit amused. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day." 

"Too long for a dinner date apparently." You say coldly.

His expression hardens, but is quickly replaced by regret.

"I owe you an apology, an important lead crossed my desk and I couldn't get away. I didn't even realize it was so late until you came in."

You arched your eyebrow at him.

"And I owe you another apology. I'm sorry I left your home so abruptly. I got a call that required my urgent attention and I had to practically run out of your apartment."

"You could have left a note." You were clearly angry and hurt.

"I didn't have time. I…" he trailed off. "There's no excuse."

"You could have called." You _should_ have called your mind corrected you.

He smiles slightly. "I don't have your number."

Your eyes go wide at your own stupidity. You never gave it to him. His smile widens a little at the look on your face.

You glance around the office at the scads of surveillance equipment.

"You can track the phone calls of criminals on an international scale but you can't get a hold of my phone number?" You counter with a tinge of frustration overshadowed by your amusement.

He chuckles. "Fair point."

"So what's in the bag?" He asks, changing the subject. 

"As I told your guard, important files from the embassy." You smirk.

He lets out a laugh. You've never heard him laugh before and it makes your heart smile.

"Your files smell a lot like empanadas."

"I figured you hadn't had a chance to eat." You scan across his desk to the bottle next to the smoke curling from an ashtray. "And you can't subsist on alcohol and cigarettes alone."

"It does smell good." He concedes.

"You need to take better care of yourself." Your tone is more serious and laced with concern than you meant it to be.

"Then I'm lucky I have a guardian ángel looking out for me." 

When he hits the world "ángel" you smile. The wide, beaming, embarrassing smile you give him when he passes your desk.

He smiles back at you, realizing he's been forgiven.

You walk over to his desk and he grabs a chair from another part of the room. You sit down next to him and tuck into your meals.

You say very little to each other, but it's far better than the awkward first date the other night.

He's relaxed around you.

You finish the meal and clean up. He leans back in his chair a little and looking regretfully at you says "I should get back to work." 

Leaning on his desk you lay your hand gently over his. "Must you?" You ask softly.

Your hushed tone reminds him of last night. How tender you were when he needed you most. How you let him fall asleep in your embrace. How you are his ángel.

He stands up and you stand to meet him. He puts his hands on your waist and sits you down on the edge of his desk. His firm but gentle grip positioning you to his liking. He runs his hands up to your back and moves closer.

He kisses you softly, and you lean into his kiss. You spread your legs so he can move closer and you feel the warmth of him against your body.

You place your hands against his chest, feeling the scratchy fabric of his uniform. 

"Oh Horacio." You sigh.

That name is so seldom spoken in this place that it melts the room away. And it is only the two if you, two bodies and two heartbeats.

He runs his hand over your hair from your crown to the nape of your neck.

His lips ghost over yours, playfully teasing and a shudder runs through you. You can feel his breath hot against your face.

Your eyes closed, he presses his lips to yours and you murmur into his mouth. You feel him smile against you as your lips part, allowing his tongue to slip past and gently massage yours.

Your hand finds the nape of his neck and your fingers start swirling circles into the base of his hair.

You go to unbutton his shirt, when his hands move to stop you. The reality around him suddenly crashes against the desire welling inside. 

He looks at you, torn. He can't do this here, in his office, at his desk. But he can't bear to disappoint you again. He considers for a moment.

"I need you" you whisper.

Though he doesn't say it, he needs you just as much.

"Desperately." You whisper, almost a hiss.

The urgency settles in his chest and his resistance fades.

Your eyes pleading for his touch, you caress his face. "Please, let me take care of you, Horacio."

"No ángel, tonight I take care of you." His voice soft but still authoritative.

He unbuttons and removes the top of his uniform to reveal the green shirt underneath. You paw at it, much softer to your touch, tighter so it grants you a better feel of his muscular chest as you run your hands across it. It's slightly damp with his musky sweat.

His fingers run up the inside of your thigh to your panties and he feels you through the thin cotton. You moan.

"You're soaking wet." He muses.

"I've been thinking about you all day." You say breathily.

His eyes darken as he slides his fingers beneath the fabric and between your folds. Your hips roll at his touch.

He slides his fingers into you, pressing your walls with just enough force to make you tremble around him. You let him finger you with strong deliberate strokes and he watches your face as your lips tremble while you breathe heavily.

He cruelly pulls his fingers away. He then wipes them down his top lip, and into his mouth, smelling you, tasting you, imbibing your essence.

"Please Horacio." You whine.

Your desperation settling between your legs, you tighten your thighs to his hips and wrap your legs around him, which hikes up the hem of your dress.

He presses his erection against your practically dripping panties, and you feel the bulge rub against your clit. You moan at the contact.

He's becoming more frenzied now and stands you up by gripping your butt and pulling you forward. He reaches under your dress and hooks the waistband of your underwear. He swiftly jerks them down to the floor, and you step out of them. He pushes you lightly and you perch back stop the desk, legs wide.

He unbuckles his belt and leaves it hanging open at the front. After unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, he pushes his pants down to his knees. And his boxers quickly follow.

His erection is exposed and you lick your lips at its reveal. He grabs it firmly and directs his head through your slick folds, pressing harder at your clit. The pressure makes you moan.

His girth finds your opening and he glides it into you with more force than before. Your hips roll as he fills you fully and you cry out.

"Oh Horacio."

You are addicted to saying his Christian name. So few have the privilege and you let it tumble from your lips again and again. With each exclamation, he thrusts a bit harder, tries to feel you more deeply. 

You grip him tightly, his shirt bunching in your fists, your legs around his barely exposed ass.

As you squeeze your walls tightly around him and your pleasure crests, you throw your head back and let out a strained and broken cry. 

He buries his head in your neck and continues his rhythm. You feel him panting heavily on your collarbone and can hear him losing control.

The rhythm breaks, and with a few quick and uneven thrusts he spills into you, crying out. As he does, you push your hand into his hair and press his head into your neck. 

As he pulls back from and out of you, you shudder and sigh. He grabs a box of tissues from his desk and gently wipes up between your legs, wiping himself clean shortly after. 

You're surprised about how gentle he is, and he seems to read your mind. 

"I told you I'd take care of you." He says, kissing your forehead. 

He retrieves your panties from the floor and as he stands up, sniffs them. You smile at this quirk.

You both straighten your clothes so you're dressed but a bit dishevelled.

He takes your hands in his and looks at them once again like they could absolve him of his sins. He's so gentle despite how much larger his hands are than yours.

He pulls you towards him slightly and his eyes brighten indicating the spark of a new idea.

"Come, I want to show you something."

He disappears into a storage closet momentarily and he comes back holding a dark wool blanket.

He leads you out of the back of the building and to a ladder on the side that leads to the rooftop. He indicates you should climb up and though you're not the most sure-footed person, you do so, with him following behind in case you slip.

As you reach the roof you look around. You're not very high up, but there's a gentle night breeze that takes your mind out of the crowded city.

He spreads the scratchy blanket across the roof as if preparing for a picnic. Taking your hand in his, he sits you down on the blanket.

He sits beside you and putting your hand on his cheek, you gaze into his eyes. Soft, brown eyes, framed by perfect lashes and slight creases at the corners when he smiles.

He gazes back and puts his hand atop yours, holding it to his face. You sit like this for some time, hoping to better understand each other through this act of silent communication.

He runs your hand down to his jaw and swipes it across his lips, kissing your palm.

Still holding your hand, he lays you down on the blanket and lays down next to you. The wide open view of the sky lets you see the almost full moon and the few stronger stars that punctuate the city's haze.

You gaze at the sky, while he gazes at you, equally entranced.

"My ángel deserves the heavens." He whispers in your ear and you melt. You certainly did not expect to find a warrior poet beneath his khaki green armour.

You turn on your side and put your hand on his chest, over his heart. He wraps his muscular arm around your shoulder and pulls you tight to him. You close your eyes and breathe him in. You can't help but feel safe next to this man. This leader of armies and hunter of evil. A hard man who has grown soft for you.

You close your eyes.

The next thing you're aware of is the sun peeking over the skyline. Horacio is awake and helps you sit up to admire it.

"Good morning." He says quietly, his lips barely moving.

"It certainly is." You say, resting your head on his shoulder. 

He wraps his arm around you and you bask in each other's steady breathing. 

Suddenly it hits you, you have to get to work.

He drives you off the base. As you pass the guard shack, Horacio - no, Colonel Carrillo, shoots the guard a stern look that says _if you ask any questions you'll be doing pushups until you collapse_. You're both waved through quickly.

He goes to drop you at your apartment, but it's too late in the morning, so he lets you out a few blocks from the embassy. He squeezes your hand as you leave the car and you scurry to work.


	3. Out and About

Having missed breakfast for the second day in a row, you sit at your desk downing cup after cup of tea.

Javier passes your desk and stops. He notices the jacket that usually lives on the back of your chair buttoned up, carefully hiding the barely work appropriate sundress underneath. He smirks. "Fun night?" 

He's seen the walk of shame,  _ done  _ the walk of shame many times before. He knows.

You can't help but smile to yourself as you remember Horacio's lips brushing against yours.

Javi catches your wistful movements and decides not to pry further. As he walks away you giggle to yourself.

You look around surreptitiously and reach into your purse. You take out the note, and run your eyes across it once more, a sacred text that feels even more religious each time you see "ángel" written on the page. You may not have wings, but it feels like your heart does, and they're making it soar.

You want to tell everyone, scream it from the rooftops as it were, but you know what you're doing, though not forbidden in writing, is certainly taboo.

You're privy to important information and don't want anyone to think you're influenced by him in any way. He also has a reputation to maintain of being above reproach. No, this will have to remain quiet.

In your haste you hadn't made any concrete plans, but felt brighter about the future. This wasn't a quick fling, you weren't a mere plaything. You were his ángel.

The day would have been painfully slow if you weren't so distracted by infatuation. You gaze dreamily at nothing between writing reports. You hum to yourself as you tap at the letters. You sigh contentedly each time you return to your desk and see the note peeking out of your purse.

Finally, mid afternoon just as you're starting to get a little sleepy, something worth noting happens. Your phone rings and the voice you've been swimming in the recollection of filters through. 

"This is Colonel Carrillo calling from Search Bloc. Thank you for bringing by the reports yesterday on such short notice."

"Certainly  _ sir _ ." You reply, emphasizing and raising your eyebrows with the word sir.

"I'll need you to bring the day's reports again. There's some vital information I'm waiting on. Make sure you bring any reports containing the word "ángel" as they are  _ very _ important to my case."

You smile at his cheekiness. At the embassy all of your calls are recorded so an open conversation is out of the question, but the use of his word,  _ your _ word makes your heart jump.

"I'll bring those by as soon as they're completed. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will be all, thank you."

He hangs up abruptly, not to be rude, but to avoid any suspicion. You would have stayed on the line like a "No, you hang up!" teenager, so it's for the best.

You squeal internally to yourself about having another date night, and start leafing through the take out menus in your desk drawer to decide what "files" would be best tonight.

You decide on a little place that does burgers that you've eaten at too many times alone. 

As the clock ticks down the final minutes of the day, somehow impossibly slowly, you start to gather your things, being sure to safely tuck away the note to leave it unblemished. You make sure you have your badge with you for tonight's delivery as well as your keys.

You grab your purse and walk home with an unusual spring in your step. You're glad to get through the door and into your sanctuary. You can finally get out of that dress and you hop in the shower. Though you'd been enjoying the subtle scent of him on you all day, it's a relief to be clean and refreshed. 

You put on your next best sundress and a light application of makeup and prepare to pick up the "files" that will no doubt smell of beef and French fries.

You gather your purse and keys and head for the door when there's a knock. You peer through the peephole and instead of a green uniform, you're met by the sight of a cornflower blue button up and a pair of khakis.

You'd expected to have a few more minutes to mentally prepare for your date, but his spontaneity makes you smile. When you open the door, you're grinning at him.

"I thought that maybe sitting at a table full of  _ files  _ instead of a desk full of actual files would be a better way to spend the evening."

He clearly has something in mind, and you see no reason to object. "Lead the way."

The restaurant is further afield than you normally venture, but you know it's to prevent prying eyes from your combined world from seeing you together.

You laugh when you arrive. It's a burger joint, a touch nicer than the one you had in mind. Great minds think alike you suppose.

"What's so funny?" He asks, worried maybe he made the wrong choice in restaurants.

"I've just been craving a good burger all afternoon."

"Then maybe I'm psychic." He laughs.

The meal is exactly what you wanted, and admittedly a better burger than you had planned. The conversation is more animated than previously, maybe because you're out in public at a reasonable time of day. There's still plenty of work talk, but you get to know a little more about him too. Talking about himself, he understandably plays it close to the (tac) vest. He's in a position where knowing too much about him could leave him vulnerable to the lowest of the low. But he wants to open up to you, and gives you a general rundown of his family, his childhood and the hobbies he wished he had time for. You reciprocate in turn and feel like this is blossoming into a relationship and not just a physical force of nature.

That force of nature returns as he reaches across the table to hold your hand and you feel the electricity run through you. You blush ever so slightly as your eyes meet his in a slow, longing sort of way. You notice his chest rise and fall subtly beneath his shirt and can tell he has the same conclusion to the evening in mind as you do.

He pays the entire bill despite your gentle protest and you thank him for the meal. You walk back to his Jeep and pick your way back to his place. He can't help but smile to himself as you hum along to the radio despite clearly not knowing the song very well.

From the outside, his home is modest and neatly maintained and you wonder how he finds the time. You picture him mowing the lawn, though he probably hires someone else to do it. The thought makes you smile nonetheless.

As he ushers you in, a little quickly to avoid prying neighbours, you take in the interior. It's beige like his pants and sparsely furnished and decorated. Typical of a busy military man you suppose. He offers you a seat on the couch and disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a whiskey tumbler full of presumably whiskey, and a second one with what you find out to be vodka soda after a sip.

"Cheers."

You clink glasses.

The alcohol slowly disappears as the natural light outside dims and the streetlights come on. The conversation has slowed and a peaceful quiet descends on the home. 

"Can I get you another?" He's practically whispering at this point.

"No, I'm fine thanks." You say, your eyes lidded from the alcohol and the general mood.

He rests his hand on your knee and leans in closer.

Your breathing quickens in anticipation of his next move.

He subtly moistens his lips and leans in even closer. He kisses you softly on the cheek, lingering against you for a long moment. You raise your hand to rest on his opposite shoulder. When he pulls back, he gazes deep into your eyes, searching them for emotion. In them he sees desire. Not desperate and firey, but needing him to return the comfort and compassion you afforded him that first night together. In his eyes you see his desire as well, a desire to please, a desire to mirror you so that you can act as one.

He keeps his movements slow, deliberate but not teasing. He moves his hand from your knee to brush at your blushing cheek and can feel the heat radiating off of you. It is you who leans in next and plants a kiss on his slightly open lips. Your tongues find each other and intertwine, dancing to a slow rhythm as your breathing slows to match his. As the song you both feel but neither can hear ends, he pulls back from you. Your hands migrate to his collar and trace it down to the top button of his shirt. You unbutton it carefully working your way down his torso over his abdomen, to untuck it from his pants. While you work to remove his shirt, his hands sneak up past the hem of your dress to caress your outer thighs. Your hands drag up his undershirt over every inch of muscular stomach and chest back to his shoulders where your hands sneak beneath the opening of his shirt. You coax it off of his shoulders and his arms fall to his sides, allowing you to rub down his biceps and to remove the shirt entirely. It is discarded on the floor as an encumbrance to your intimacy.

He hands return to seeking your softest skin beneath your dress, and your breathing trembles as he passes over the sensitive skin that craves his touch.

He works his way upward, over the panties covering your hips, and along the sides of your waist. As he reaches your bra covered ribs, you raise your arms to accommodate him pulling the dress over your head.

You reciprocate by running your hands under the hem of his undershirt, again taking your time to let your fingers map each muscle as you raise it to his chest and as he raises his arms, over his head. It joins his shirt on the floor.

He regards you, taking in your curves, the soft flush of your skin from the alcohol and the desire. You take in his firm body, your eyes dragging along each hard edge that defines his physique. 

Your eyes return to each other's and all you can hear are your breaths mingling in the heavy air.

" _ Hermosa _ " he whispers. 

As your lips open and shut as you try to find a response, he silences your uncertainty with another kiss. While your lips press firmly to their counterparts, he releases your bra. You let him remove it and throw it on the growing heap of clothing on the floor.

His hand cups your breast and he swipes his thumb across your nipple, it hardens at his touch and you gasp. He massages your breast while leaning into you, over you, using his mass to coax you downwards until you're laying back on the couch lengthwise.

While you watch him stand and remove his belt, pants and boxers, you pull down your panties and toss them aside. You are both now fully nude and your combined lust mounts as he all but dives on top of you.

You spread your legs to allow him access to your center and he positions himself to align with your body. Leaning on his elbows, he holds your face so he captures your full attention. His thumbs smooth the hair back over your temples as he watches you. You scrunch your eyes together as he enters your body and you whimper as his length slowly fills you.

You grasp at his back and your knees bend upwards to grip at his sides, while he rhythmically draws in and out of you. You rock your hips to his pace and he studies your ever changing expression. Little gasps and whimpers escape you as he presses into your pleasure, and you hear his breath crack softly as he feels your walls tremble around him.

As your breathing quickens and you gasp for air, he increases his pace. He kisses your face lightly. 

"Oh god." You say in a voice you don't control.

He takes that as his cue to press into you harder, each thrust more deliberate than the last. Your legs begin to tremble and he can see your face begin to tense and slacken in ecstasy.

"Oh  _ god _ ." Your exclamation louder this time.

For an instant, your whole body tenses and you cry out as waves of pleasure radiate from your core. Every part of you then relaxes for an instant while the thrusts continue.

You can tell he's close, and you bear down to aid his release. His cry is broken as his few final thrusts press at your center. He spills his cum into you and you smile, knowing you caused such a pleasurable act.

He collapses on top of you and his weight grounds you to the reality of him. That despite the floating, swimming sensation you are feeling, you are in his home and he is at home within you.

A few moments pass and he pulls away, leaving you dripping with his cum. For a second he admires his work, and silently excuses himself to get something to clean up with.

The warm washcloth beneath his strong, gentle hands is almost more intimate than what just occurred, showing a regard for your comfort and wellbeing. He takes you by the hands and lifts you off the couch, and pulls you into a deep satisfying kiss. 

"Come to bed ángel." He says leading you up the stairs to his room.

You collapse into his bed and he comes back from his bathroom with a glass of water. You sip it gladly, and placing it on the nightstand lay your head against the pillow. He tucks in next to you and smooths a stray hair away from your forehead, which he then kisses.

You both lay back and let the quiet night lull you to sleep.


End file.
